Shame of Man by Piers Anthony
There were no more nocturnal visits by the slave girl. Hyu knew why: the girls were now under the protection of the emperor of China, and were given no freedom to wander about by day or night. But he received an incidental additional insight on the matter from Captain Itti: “So you are constant, as I expected.”
“Constant?”
“You are taking your role seriously. You sent the girl away. Twice.”
“You knew of that?” Hyu asked, surprised.
“I should. I sent her to you.”
“But why?”
“We made a bet. The envoys thought you could be corrupted. I said you could not. They said that any man can be corrupted by sufficient temptation and sufficient secrecy. That is, if there is something he desires, and he can have it without others knowing, he will take it, regardless of his oaths. So we put it to the test. I am pleased to say that I won a considerable wager.”
Hyu was not completely pleased with this news. “You took a considerable risk! Suppose I had not been true to my vow? Not only would you have lost your wager, the mission itself would have been in peril.”
Itti shrugged. “I am a believer in the fates. I have not observed the wind to change at the behest of men, though there are those who choose to believe otherwise. Whatever will be, will be. But if you are truly an indication of the auspices for this mission, then its fate has already been set, and the best we can do is confirm it early. That is, if you can be corrupted, then the mission is doomed to fail anyway. If I knew that was the case, I would act to spare myself the consequence of that failure. Since you were true, the mission is presumed to be fated for success, and that is reassuring.”
“You believe that?”
Itti shrugged again. “The rationale will do until the confirmation. Meanwhile the others are reassured, and are proceeding with greater confidence.”
So there had been more riding on the slave girl's proposition than Hyu had guessed. Was it a valid indication? His doubt echoed the captain's doubt, but he had to agree that a reassured envoy was better than one who expected to fail. Meanwhile, neither of them would be speaking of this matter elsewhere, and surely the envoys would beep the secret also.
But what of the girl, Lee? Now he knew that she had been put up to it—but would she have done it if he had agreed? What of his seeming memory of a prior encounter? Her statement that she had heard him play at her village, which he also seemed almost to remember? Were the spirits playing with him by providing a woman who really did like him, and a situation that would enable her to destroy him?
But if he believed that the spirits really were active here, then he had also to believe the certainty of his daughter Mini that the success of the mission was assured. That was more comforting.
By the time they reached the palace of the governor, swift messengers had evidently already carried the news farther, because not only did the governor welcome the party, he had decided to accompany them to the Imperial capital himself. This meant a much farther journey, but it was also done in better style, for the governor was not one to allow himself to suffer the indignities of the open road. They rode in a caravan of closed coaches, with a small army of horsemen as guards. If there were any brigands in the area, they were careful to stay clear, because any attack on the governor's party would have been suicidal. At regular intervals they stopped for quite good meals, and always parked at night in protected camps.
However, Hyu himself did not have the best of it. The envoys explained his purpose, so he was tolerated, but he was largely confined to an isolated wagon where menial slaves congregated. He did not speak their language, but they took him for one of their kind, and treated him affably. On occasion he brought out his flute and played for them, and then they became quite pleasant; they seldom had entertainment of this level. He began to learn some of their words, so that the problem of communication diminished. When they learned his actual role, they thought it hilarious: he was actually of the elite class, being treated worse than a slave.
The journey north took a full month. Hyu saw the glittering curling roofs of the great city and its temple palaces, and wished he could inspect them closely, but only the envoys and their offerings were allowed to enter the city. In due course—after several days—the envoys returned without their offerings, but with a sealed scroll and some wrapped packages. They seemed pleased, but Hyu was not close enough to speak with them. Thus he remained in some doubt about the success of the mission, and his own fate.
Then something unexpected occurred. The chief envoy approached him. “The emperor has feted us in a manner beyond our expectation,” he said. “We find ourselves embarrassed to be unable to respond in kind. But you are a fine musician; we know your reputation, and we have heard you play.”
“I can not go near the emperor!” Hyu protested. “I must neither clean myself nor accept any benefit.”
“But it is in your interest to forward the success of our mission. We do not ask you to accept any reward, merely to give, so that we may leave the emperor without the shame of inadequacy.”
This made sense. “What do you wish me to give?”
“Your music. You must play your flute for the emperor.”
“But—”
“We will put you behind a curtain, so that his eyes need never be soiled by the sight of your squalor, and we will surround you with perfumes to cover your odor. You will not speak. You will only play. One melody.”
They had thought it through. “As you wish.”
They bundled Hyu in a voluminous cape, completely hiding him from the view of others, put him in a wagon that carried him to the palace, then guided him through the labyrinth of the royal demesnes to a chamber formed of standing white panels. There they unwrapped him. The odor of perfume was so strong as to make him catch his breath. “On my signal,” the envoy said, standing at the angled entrance of the chamber.
Hyu stood with his flute. He glanced up, and saw the enormous vault of the palace ceiling, more elaborate and majestic than anything he had seen in Japan. Awed, he studied its intricate painted ridges and angles, becoming lost in the intricacies of the pattern.
“Hssst!”
Hyu was jolted out of his reverie. The envoy was making the signal. So he lifted his flute and began to play. But his eyes returned to the marvelous ceiling, whose wonders seemed endless.
The melody floated out, filling the small chamber, reaching up to caress the lovely ceiling. Hyu felt the echoes of that surface, and adjusted his style and beat to accommodate it. It became a collaboration, and the ceiling enhanced his quality of tone, making the melody more than it could ever have been alone. The faint reverberations surrounded him, and guided him, and he played as never before. He seemed to be floating amidst the music, breathing it, loving it.
Then it was done, and he had to stop. The melody was complete, and could not be extended; it established its own boundary. But it had been an experience he would never forget.
He waited for them to come with the cloak to take him away, but there was a pause. Then a panel lifted, silently, making a gap in the temporary wall the size of a door. Hyu looked through the hole that appeared, all but his eyes remaining still.
There sat a man who could be only the emperor, surrounded by his courtiers. He wore a bright yellow robe with a dark dragon embroidered on the chest. His head was covered by a simple cap that covered his hair. His eyes gazed straight at Hyu.
Hyu did not know what to do. Had someone made a mistake, and opened the wrong panel? He in his filth was not supposed to be revealed to the emperor! Yet here he was abruptly exposed. And no one was giving any indication of his proper response; it was as if the entire city were frozen.
Caught completely unprepared, Hyu could think of only one thing to do: pretend that all was in order. Slowly he bowed his head to the emperor, making a token obeisance to the lord of China, hoping that this act was not insulting in its presumption.
There was absolute silence. Then the emperor, expressionles
The panel came down, separating them. Hyu was suitably isolated again, and free to move. He turned to look at the envoy—and caught him standing open-mouthed.
The trip back south took another month, and then several more days to the shore where their ship waited. They set off with a light cargo. Only then did Hyu get to speak again with Captain Itti. “The news is good. But we still must cross the sea. If a storm takes us out, all is lost.”
The news was good. Hyu felt substantial relief. But exactly how good was it? That, too, made a difference.
The captain did not leave him in doubt. “The emperor—you never saw such finery!—met the envoys personally. I was allowed only to the adjacent room, but I got a peek at him. He seemed quite touched by their message and gifts. He strikes me as a vain man, and such a compliment to his authority encouraged him to a generous response. He met with them, then retired for two days while they were treated sumptuously, then met with them again and gave them the scroll. And unless it says to behead them upon their return, it means the success of the mission. We should all benefit handsomely.”
“But what of the time I played?” Hyu asked.
“The envoys set it up,” Itti said. “You played well. I have never heard such music! The emperor listened without apparent emotion. But then he indicated that he wanted to see the author of the music, and they could not refuse him. The emperor knew your situation. The envoy would have prepared you for the encounter, acquainting you with the proper forms, but no one knew this would happen.”
“I think he liked the melody,” Hyu said.
“The whole city was agog as we departed. The emperor did you great honor. He acknowledges no one without excellent reason. And yet all those who heard you play there understood. The spirits were surely with you.”
“They surely were,” Hyu agreed, gratified.
Later the clouds piled up to the south-southwest, directly in their path. “You didn't—?” Itti asked Hyu, his face lining with worry.
“I did not violate any part of my role,” Hyu said. “Much thanks to you.”
The captain ignored the irony. “Then that storm will slide past us harmlessly.” He was not being humorous or casual; he really believed it, and thus his underlying faith was revealed. He might deny the influence of the spirits when there was no threat, but he was quick to accept it when there was a threat.
The storm loomed darkly, and its inflowing winds carried the ship swiftly toward it. But the storm was moving north, and by the time the ship drew close, the peripheral winds remaining in the route were manageable. In fact they made better time than they might have, because of the storm's boost. The spirits were teasing them, but helping rather than hurting. Soon enough they made it to land, and all was well.
The captain's judgment proved to be valid. The emperor had not only accepted the gifts, he had sent gifts of his own: blue silk, white silk, gold silk, dragon-embossed silk, pearls, valuable red pigment, and a sword almost as long as a man. He had also conferred high titles upon the envoys, and given them special awards. The scroll expressed his extreme pleasure, and Queen Himiko's own pleasure was not long in being felt.
Hyu knew what this meant to him and his family. Yet what remained foremost in his mind was the way the palace ceiling had enhanced his melody, and the emperor's slow nod. Surely Hyu's children's children would someday learn of that.
Himiko ruled securely until A.D. 244 before she had a problem with a neighboring king. She sent to the emperor for support, and he provided it. But Himiko died before the envoy returned. She was buried beneath a mound more than a hundred paces in diameter, and a hundred men and maidservants were buried with her. The Yoshinogari site is the oldest known large mound burial in Japan, making it seem likely to be Himiko's.
A king succeeded her, but civil unrest followed, with assassinations becoming commonplace—exactly as had been the case before Himiko's ascension. Finally a thirteen-year-old girl named Iyo, a relative of Himiko, was made queen, and she restored order. The Chinese emperor supported her, and an exchange of gifts occurred. It seems that peace and prosperity remained until the time when men achieved power again, and the Yayoi culture disappeared. If there is a lesson here, it seems to have been lost on men.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
MOSLEM
In the Year of the Elephant, according to tradition, or about A.D. 570, a boy was born in Mecca, Arabia. Orphaned by age five, Muhammad was raised by an uncle. At age twenty-five he married a rich forty-year-old widow, and it was a happy union. But he was disturbed by the corruption that flourished in the name of religion; there were 360 idols in Mecca. In 610 he heard bells and a voice enjoining him to recite the nature of Allah, a single god. Thus, in time, came to be the Moslem religion. The Prophet died in A.D. 632, having unified a number of Arab tribes by preaching and force of arms. His successors continued similarly, securing all Arabia, then expanding operations to neighboring Palestine, Syria, and Mesopotamia. In these regions there had been constant strife, weakening their governments, and the local populace welcomed the forces of Islam as liberators. Cities that surrendered without fighting were treated leniently. Thus Islam spread rapidly, soon amassing globally significant territory. But by A.D. 655 the unity of the new empire was crumbling; factions were quarreling. Muhammad's cousin Ali, who had married the Prophet's daughter Fatima, became the dominant figure, but strife was constant. In 661 Ali was assassinated—and became revered in death as he had not been in life. His supporters are known today as the Shiites. Power then shifted to Muawiya, the governor of Syria, a skilled statesman, who moved the capital from Mecca to Damascus and established the century-long rule of the Umayyad caliphs.
ONCE the joy of Huo's return, and the family's restoration of status, had been celebrated, they held a family council. The Bedouin Huo had been implicated in the Caliph Ali's assassination by a poisoned blade, but his pilgrimage to Mecca had established his piety, and new evidence had absolved him. But Arabia was the region of his degradation, and he wasn't sure he wanted to remain here.
First they went out as a family for the dawn devotion, prostrating themselves in the direction of Mecca, the Holy City. Then they discussed their prospects.
“But where else could we go?” An'a asked for the benefit of the children. They had already discussed it privately, but preferred family unity.
“The Caliph Muawiya has invited me to play for him in Damascus,” Huo said. “He will even provide my family with good lodging.”
“But you supported Caliph Ali!” Chi'ip exclaimed. He was eleven, and knew what was what.
“But Caliph Muawiya fought Caliph Ali,” Miina reminded him. She was nine, and a midnight-haired beauty despite her youth. Huo knew that when she had a body to go with her face, she would be a dancer like no other.
“So the fact that I may have had a problem relating to Ali's death does not bother Muawiya,” Huo said. “He suspects that though I supported him, my position among his other supporters has been weakened because of their attempt to implicate me unfairly. And he is right. I am no longer eager to associate with them.”
“The man is clever about such things,” An'a remarked.
“He sure is,” Chi'ip said enthusiastically. “When he fought Ali at Siffen, Ali had 50,000 troops and was winning, until Muawiya's men tied pages of the Koran to their lances, saying, ‘Let Allah decide.’ So they had to go to arbitration, and Muawiya didn't get beaten.”
“And when they wanted to call Ali's son Hasan the new caliph,” Miina said, eager to show that she knew about politics too, “Muawiya sent him a note that said: ‘Ask what thou wilt,’ and enclosed a blank sheet of paper with Muawiya's signature on it. And Hasan took the money of the town treasury and went with his wives and harem to Medina, and renounced his claim to power.”
Huo nodded. “Muawiya never uses the sword where the lash suffices, and spares the lash where his tongue is enough. He makes lavish gifts to his enemies, because a
“Yes, because our own kind did us dirt,” Chi'ip said righteously.
But Miina wasn't so certain. “It's a long journey. What is Damascus like?”
“It was perhaps the wealthiest city of the Byzantine Empire,” Huo said. “It surrendered to the faithful after a six month siege, so wasn't ravaged, and remains prominent. The Christians and Jews are allowed not only to remain, they can continue their idolatrous worship and run their businesses, as long as they pay their taxes. Any citizen can ask for and receive an audience with the caliph, and many do. So it is an interesting, cosmopolitan place.”
“Even I could meet the caliph?” Miina asked, awed.
“Even you, I think,” Huo agreed.
She nodded. “Then we can go.”
Damascus was indeed impressive. Mecca might be the Holy City, but Damascus was huge and beautiful. It had been left as it was, expect for one thing: the caliph was constructing a palace of green marble and painted ceilings. Here he would be able to hold court in style, sitting cross-legged on golden cushions, with his paternal relatives to his right and his maternal relatives to his left, all dressed in their silks and brocades. There would be plenty of room for the lawyers and secretaries and poets and guild masters, too, along with a plethora of minor officials. But at the moment the most splendid building was the enormous Christian church, where there were human figures painted on the walls. No Moslem Mosque would tolerate such forbidden art, of course, as it constituted the worship of idols, but allowance had to be made for those who didn't know better.